


I'll take the fall and the fault in us

by redroseinsanity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Relationship, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, also kind of fluffy, and also just stupid at times, hajime is stupid in love with tooru, sounds like a death fic BUT NOT, they're both idiots, this is one of those times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 19:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroseinsanity/pseuds/redroseinsanity
Summary: But now Hajime wakes alone, shaking from a nightmare because he can’t soothe Tooru through his anymore and Hajime’s nightmares are all Tooru.AKA the one year where Hajime realises he's one half of a whole





	I'll take the fall and the fault in us

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Slight mentions of a couple of drops of blood! It’s really minor but just in case!

_Am I losing it?_  
_Do you think I am?_  
_Am I losing you?_  
_I don’t think I can._  


Hajime jerks awake from another nightmare, sweat soaking through his thin cotton tee and his breaths heaving as he fists his hands in the sheets. Nightmares used to be Tooru’s thing; he would be roused by Tooru’s whimpers or cold hands gripping at Hajime’s sleeve, collar, skin, anything, particularly on stormy nights. Hajime was the one who would soothe him awake, push his damp bangs away from his forehead and tell him it was just a dream, that he was alright. Hajime was the one who would cradle Tooru’s head and stroke his back, whispering that he was _good enough, strong enough, I believe in you, I’m here and you’re okay._  


But now Hajime wakes alone, shaking from a nightmare because he can’t soothe Tooru through his anymore and Hajime’s nightmares are all Tooru.  


It wasn’t always like this.  


It wasn’t always staring at his phone waiting for a message or a call or anything until he fell asleep, making awkward and painful small talk with classmates and the old lady down the hall, straining his ears for a hint of Tooru’s excited squeal when he sees any alien related stuff because it’s so, _so_ quiet without him and it took a year without him for Hajime to realise.  


It’s been a year since he started college, but the days blend into an unending blur of doing assignments, quiet Friday nights drinking beer alone and waking up on Sunday afternoons to do laundry in a haze; punctuated by the occasional call home to let his family know everything’s okay and sometimes a text from Mattsun or Makki, checking in on him. But if you asked Hajime, his year has been anchored by the regularity of lessons and measured by the number of days he hasn’t spoken to Tooru.  


**Five days.** The amount of time he took to emerge from the cloud of anger and pride that had sparked the argument in the first place and find that, in the middle of all that emotion-laden fog, was an almost keening need to talk to Tooru.  


**Two hours.** The subsequent amount of time it took to realise that Tooru’s phone was off and that he had already left for Tokyo, making it clear that while Hajime was ready to fix this, whatever this was, Tooru wanted to start afresh and leave his old life behind. Including the pain that Hajime had caused him. Including Hajime. The unresolved frustration, remnant from their fight had shifted almost fluidly into a yawning blackness in his chest. He’d never had to reach for Oikawa before because he had always been there, arm slung over Hajime’s shoulders, hanging off Hajime’s neck, a breathy “Iwa-chan” always too loud in his ear, too constantly repeated until it wasn’t.  


Hajime had moved out the next day, taking his own train to Tokyo and standing in his tiny rented apartment, choking down the thought that he and Tooru had made plans to take turns helping each other move in, plans that quietly reinforced what Hajime whispered to Tooru after particularly bad dreams: _It isn’t that far, the distance is nothing, of course we’ll still see each other._

Affirming what Tooru had initiated in their ninth summer when Hajime had gone to visit his aunt and Tooru had cried for three days until Hajime came back and pinky promised that they would never be apart again ever. And they weren’t. The next summer, Hajime’s aunt had welcomed Tooru when Hajime dragged him up to her door and nine years on, Tooru, not Hajime, is the one his aunt calls when she hears any news about their volleyball triumphs.  


**Three months.** It’s a pretty regular visit to the nearby convenience store for a toothpaste and cup noodle run until Hajime sees Oikawa’s face on the latest varsity sports magazine. He nearly drops the stack of Nissin ramen he’s holding but adjusts his grip in time, although there’s nothing he can do about the sudden, sharp inhale he’s taken. And there’s definitely nothing he can do about the crushing sensation in his lungs that has been, too slowly, filtering into a deep ache in the past three months.  


Three months to come to terms with the fact that he had done this, he had hurt Oikawa enough to push him away forever, that it was selfish of him to want to go back and whack Oikawa on the back of the head and ask him to stop being a dumbass, to demand that he tell Hajime what was wrong. At this point, in Hajime’s mind, he’s not sure if he’s demanding anymore or just pleading, because in his dreams he never gets to that point. In his dreams, no one answers the door even though he knows, he knows that it’s the right one and Hajime is left standing there, calling for relief.  


He leaves without looking at the magazine again and then runs back in only his sleeping attire four hours later (thanking god that it’s a twenty-four-hour store), snatches the magazine from the rack and runs back to his apartment after tossing way too much cash at the wide-eyed cashier with the flower clip in her hair. He doesn’t sleep and makes it to class ten minutes late the next day, his brain drowning out the professor’s lecture with too bright imprints of a smile he knows is fake and a constant stream of whatever he retained after poring over the article for hours.

It ranges from an endless pondering on whether Oikawa had actually been getting sleep or if they photoshopped his eyebags, to an almost numbingly painful repetition of the words, “My new team is great and I’m so grateful to be able to play with Japan’s best, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be!”. The glossy paged Oikawa grates against the Tooru he knows, his hands unconsciously clenching as he tries to keep them separate, to hide his Tooru from the Oikawa he’s three months away from but they clash and meld. _I don’t have to go anywhere without you, I just want to be with you_ is drowned in printer ink and enamel coated pages that give him papercuts.  


**One term.** After completing a group project, Hajime treks across campus, feeling relieved that he’s survived the first term of college when a familiar shade of chestnut flashes in the corner of his eye. Any sort of reason dies and Hajime functions on pure instinct alone to make an approximate hundred-degree swerve which results in nearly crashing into a rowdy group of students who, on hindsight were likely already drunk to celebrate end of term, barely refraining from toppling into the muddy grass before charging onward with a muttered apology flung behind him. His heart slams with an urgency that he refuses to let translate into his feet, controlling his pace at a jog in the guise of a brisk walk, his mind jumping from Shittykawa to Dumbass to Oikawa and landing on Tooru just as he realises that the person’s build is wrong, the way they walk is wrong, too.

Heck, even the shade of brown is off, on closer inspection, with this person’s hair glinting almost auburn in the afternoon sun. Hajime jerks to an abrupt stop, causing another almost-collision with a petite girl who squeaks, apologizes and skitters off before Hajime even realises he’s been spoken to. The initial surprise triggered by the mistaken identity bleeds into numbed shock at his own reaction, at his mind for painting this illusion and at his heart for clutching so desperately at it. He turns and takes the thirty-minute walk home.  


**Seventeen weeks.** How long Mattsun and Makki made fortnightly visits. They would come by, usually on weekends, because the train ride from their university in Chiba is roughly two hours. The weekends were spent catching up, watching movies or exploring Tokyo because Hajime couldn’t bring himself to go at it on weekdays when he had been anticipating a familiar, calloused hand to have been dragging him to every single touristy spot and then some.  


Not that he hadn’t tried going out the first few weeks, forcing himself to make the most of his time in a big city, or maybe attempting to lose himself in it. But he takes a phantom of Tooru everywhere he goes and he swears that every corner he turns there’s an “Iwa-chan” drifting from the clean lines of the pavement, so he takes the easy way out and stops venturing into the city, starts living in the mundanity of the shuttle between home and campus, the supermarket being an anomaly.  


But Makki and Mattsun barge into his apartment on a fortnightly basis, fling open his curtains while slinging teasing insults at him and demand to be shown around Tokyo. Behind their casual demeanour and easy smiles, he catches their pensive gazes around his spartan apartment and their not-subtle-enough silent exchange of glances while they gently probe him to see if he’s as okay as he claims. He knows they worry and he knows they want to talk about it but he carefully guides their conversations around high school and volleyball and firmly tip-toes them around Oikawa.

He suspects they alternate visits between him and Oikawa, which explains the fortnightly regularity and more than once, he finds a “How is he?” on the tip of an alcohol pliant tongue. Every time, even before his pride can arrest the letters shaping themselves on his lips, the barrage of uncertainty cocktailed with anger and pure emotion flood his mouth, bog the words down and rob him of air.  


**Thirty two weeks.** How long it took for the fortnightly visits to slowly peter into monthly visits and eventually stop as the three of them staggered under the weight of finals and end-of-term assignments. They still messaged an indecent amount but Hajime felt their absence acutely, and the frost that had begun to encroach on his windowpanes and pipes felt like an excellent example of pathetic fallacy; he bets his English teacher would have been proud of him.  


Hajime throws himself into studying and assignments with a kind of fervour normally reserved for the week before finals when you have three essays, a group project, four exams and nothing done yet. It had felt good though, to Hajime, there was nothing else he had to think about. All he had to do was study, work his shifts at the convenience store (flower clip cashier turned out to be really nice and she never mentioned that awkward money-throwing incident) and remember to eat his meals.

Hajime is just grateful that he’s too exhausted to think most of the time, with all his energy spent on work and school and just functioning. While his waking thoughts become mostly tinged with a fatigued hue and dulled by stress, his dreams grow more vivid; he counts Tooru’s eyelashes, sees flashes of alien bedsheets then is whisked to a volleyball court, Tooru’s hand solid and reassuring on his back because Hajime was the reliable ace but Tooru is his strength.  


**Three hundred and twenty three nights.** As much as Hajime can try to deny himself in the day, Tooru demands his nights. His sleep is monopolized by the scent of Tooru’s coconut shampoo and sometimes the passionfruit leave-in conditioner that he used when his hair got too dry, Tooru’s voice becomes the soundtrack of his dreams, no matter if it’s his laughter or his gasps or a sobbed out, “Iwa-chan”, and they all end the same. Hajime wakes more often than not with wet cheeks, a raw throat and _Tooru, please_ scrawled on the walls of his mind. And when Hajime doesn’t dream of Tooru, he doesn’t dream at all.  


. . .

  


_Oh you know when you’re alone_  
_I’m holding on_  
_And on and on and on_  
_To your soul_  


It wasn’t always like this.  


It started with wide chocolate eyes and a whine that Hajime had grown to hold like a tether to his best friend, following it to reach him in a crowd of people or sometimes just to the back of his head, one arm’s length away. According to their mothers, it started when Hajime had invited the weird, new kid on the street to go catch bugs and they came back with Tooru sporting several cuts and a smile that gave the sun a run for its money as he tentatively clutched a jar containing an impressive rhinoceros beetle.

When Tooru’s mother requested for Tooru to return the jar (and its tenant) to Hajime, Hajime had shaken his head, a faint pink blossoming on his cheeks as he mumbled that it was Tooru’s for keeps, causing Tooru’s smile to widen in delight and a responding blush to bloom. They’d been inseparable thereafter with Tooru stumbling after Hajime into the trees and Hajime grudgingly tossing a volleyball around with Tooru.  


But if you asked Hajime, it had started when a ten-year-old Tooru pulled out a small vegetable knife one sunny afternoon and announced that they were going to take a blood oath.  


__

_Hajime stares for a split second before flatly stating, “No.” Tooru has tons of dumb ideas but this is crazy. What kind of nonsense is a blood oath and why do we need to take it? Tooru, lanky and already equipped with the liquid eyes that make adults melt, pouts as he brandishes the knife._  


__

_“But Iwa-chan, it’s like- it’s like… This way we can becomes sworn brothers but cooler cause we have jobs or a mission! Or something…” he pauses, his eyes dropping to the ground for one brief beat which cements Hajime’s guess that Tooru has no clue what he’s doing and fortifying Hajime’s certainty that he does not want to be a part of this, “It’ll be great! Come oooon, Iwa-chan!” Hajime shakes his head and wrenches his arm away, causing Tooru’s eyes to go doe-like as he continues to implore Hajime to go along with his hare-brained scheme._  


_Hajime sighs internally because he had caught a glimpse of Tooru’s eyes before they went all wide and begging and he knows that Tooru will likely never stop badgering Hajime about this (see: the purple alien water bottle incident). So it was either he give in now and save himself the trouble in the coming days or try to last as long as he could but eventually give up and go along so that Tooru would shut up._  


_“Fine, but if you bleed to death, I’m not sending you to the hospital.” Tooru lets out a loud cheer and grabs Hajime’s hand, the tip of the knife hovering just over fleshy part of Hajime’s palm._  


_“Okay, Iwa-chan, repeat after me. I, Iwa-chan, solemnly vow,” Tooru yelps as Hajime flicks him on the forehead._  


_“Why would I vow this as Iwa-chan?” He growls, “I, Hajime, solemnly vow,” he looks exasperatedly at Tooru to continue._  


_“That Tooru will always be my bestest, bestest friend and favourite person in the whole, wide world forever and that no one will be more favourite than me, I mean, him!” Hajime throws a disbelieving look in Tooru’s direction, although something inside him clicks, allowing him to link Tooru’s strange urge with the new kid in class who had been very excited about Hajime playing football with them during break time._  


_“That Crappykawa,” he huffs, glaring at Tooru who crinkles his nose at him, “will always be my best friend and,” he pauses, considering his next few words. The patch of skin that Tooru’s knife is poised over itches a little, “and favourite idiot in the whole world.” He finishes and glowers at Tooru to let him know that is all he’s going to get and not to try and push it. Tooru looks about to argue but seems to change his mind, plastering another grin on his face as he goes on._  


_“And that I will help Tooru achieve world domination and be his right handed, no, right hand man, so that we achieve all our dreams together!” Tooru finishes with a gleeful flourish using the hand not holding the knife, an excited flush working its way up his cheeks. Hajime shuts his eyes, names three years that a Godzilla remake was premiered and takes a deep breath (a trick that has worked well into their teenaged years)._  


_“And that I will be there to tell Shittykawa that it’s a bad idea when he has them, like world domination,” he frowns at Tooru, “so that we can achieve our dreams together without doing anything stupid. Or landing in jail.” He adds as an afterthought. Again, Tooru opens his mouth to protest the less than satisfactory oath but a deepening of Hajime’s frown tells him that’s the best he’s going to get. He recalculates and decides it’s enough. His smile takes on a contented glow and he takes a deep breath._  


_“I, Tooru, solemnly vow that Iwa-chan will always be my bestest, bestest friend and favourite person in the whole wide world, even though he’s so mean to me,” he sticks a small pink tongue out at Hajime who growls, and he hurriedly continues, “Ah, and no one will be more favourite than him! And that I will achieve world domination and all my dreams with Iwa-chan and no one else!”_  


_Hajime watches as Tooru hesitates, the blade of the knife wavering over Hajime’s open hand and sighs again, but his hand is gentle as he takes the knife from the taller boy and pokes his finger, just like Sleeping Beauty on the spinning wheel. A small bead of crimson wells up and Tooru lets out a sound that’s a cross between a gasp and a squeal before offering his own finger to Hajime._  


_Hajime only falters for a millisecond before he presses down onto Tooru’s finger with the same amount of pressure he had used on himself. Tooru’s lips tighten but he’s otherwise soundless and his body remains relaxed. Once both have matching drops of blood on their index fingers, Hajime stares expectantly at Tooru cause he has no idea how this is supposed to work. How Tooru even knew about blood oaths is a mystery to him.  
_

_Tooru reaches and swipes his bloodied finger on Hajime’s cheek, grinning at him the whole time and Hajime can’t help but grin back because this is Tooru’s genuinely happy smile. Not the one that he uses when he wants an extra slice of jelly or when he’s trying to pretend he’s not angry. This is the same one that Tooru had smiled all those years ago when Hajime had given him the rhinoceros beetle. So Hajime smiles even though there’s the slightly icky feeling of Tooru’s blood drying on the side of his face and his own finger is starting to hurt a little. Still smiling, he daubs Tooru on the cheek with his blood and that’s that.  
_

_The two traipse back to Tooru’s house (because he wants to use his alien themed plasters for their fingers) and nearly give Tooru’s mother a heart attack. To her credit, she calms down reasonably quickly, especially after listening to her son’s explanation, and sends them to wash up with a bemused look.  
_

For Hajime, that’s where he and Tooru really began, because stupid blood oath or no, he had meant what he said. He had promised to be his best friend and his voice of reason which meant making sure that Tooru didn’t kill himself trying to be the best in volleyball and that he had enough sleep, ate his meals. Even after they’d lost to Karasuno, Hajime had been the one to make sure Tooru didn’t lose himself as well.

They’d both taken it hard, but Hajime knew what it meant to Tooru and he refused to sit back and watch Tooru crumble. And Tooru didn’t, he let Hajime pull him out of his funk and he never let go of Hajime’s hand, not at night when he woke from bad dreams and not even when they got into different colleges. Except Hajime knew that the year and the stress and the worry had taken its toll on the setter and he needed assurance, no matter how his wide grin had tried to hide it. Hajime wasn’t fooled and he did his best to give Tooru the security he craved except that one day he’d fucked up without even realising how badly he had fucked up.  


Thanks to his temper and his insensitivity and both their goddamn prides, they’d created a rift between them that Hajime didn’t even know how to begin bridging because he’d hurt Tooru once and he really wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself if he did it again. While Hajime second-guessed and regretted, time trotted by and the rift inched into a gulf.  
So much for keeping his promises.  


. . .

  


_Is it still you and I, forever?  
_

It’s been a year but when Hajime opens the door to his old bedroom, it feels, for a brief moment, as though nothing has changed. It’s a short visit home during spring break because he’d heard the wistfulness in his mother’s voice over the last phone call home and it had sparked a good measure of guilt in him.  


He’d avoided going home because home was synonymous with Tooru. Because there wasn’t a street they hadn’t charged down yelling and playing, because he knew exactly which corner shop Tooru liked his blueberry popsicles from which was different from the store he liked his milk bread from. He knew the exact spot Tooru had tripped over a tree root, hit his head on another tree root and full-on bawled before Hajime had offered him a piggy back ride home.  


Because home meant Tooru and now that he’d lost Tooru, he wasn’t sure if there was somewhere for him to go back to anymore.  


Hajime takes in the old Godzilla posters and the neat stack of school notes that he hadn’t bothered to throw away after graduation and if he tries hard enough, he can pretend that Tooru is about to burst in with a cry of “Iwa-chan” and a distorted plan for their day like that time he dragged Hajime to buy new socks and they had ended up with magazines, new glasses for Tooru, a pair of earphones, a phone number of a very infatuated shop assistant and no socks.  


He’s just finished unpacking the few things he’d brought back with him, including gifts from Tokyo for the family and stretched out on the bed when his mom comes in to let him know that dinner is ready.  


“Hajime,” she studies her son, the fondness in her eyes evident, “Tooru came home a couple of days ago.” Hajime tries to pretend that there isn’t a little clutch at this heart when he hears this but his mother reads his face easily and sighs, perching on the bed next to his prone figure.  


“I don’t know what’s going on and neither does Oikawa-san but we both know that something’s wrong,” she places a gentle hand on his cheek, the same cheek Tooru had marked with his own blood all those years ago, “I’ve seen Tooru only once since he came back and Hajime, he’s so skinny now. You too.” There’s a sadness in her eyes that her voice only barely betrays, maintaining its warmth and soothing tone.  


She doesn’t say anything else after that. Just presses a kiss onto Hajime’s forehead and goes down to set the table, leaving Hajime fighting to swallow around the boulder in his throat.  


. . .

  


**One year.** Hajime jerks awake from another nightmare, sweat soaking through his thin cotton tee and his breaths heaving as he fists his hands in the sheets, sheets that have seen him through from middle school to graduation. Nightmares used to be Tooru’s thing but now Hajime wakes alone, Tooru’s name on his lips and reaching for a warmth that isn’t there.  


He checks his phone, no messages, no calls, it’s 2:37am and Hajime can still hear the echoes of Tooru’s laugh from his dream, feel the wisps of hair that lie on the nape of his neck and something inside him just _snaps_. He lurches out of his bedroom only to stagger back in, fumble through his drawer and then barrel back down the corridor, only remembering belatedly that it’s the middle of the night and that his family is fast asleep. 

Fortunately, no one seems to have woken up and Hajime closes the door with as much care as he can summon before taking the path so familiar he could walk it blindfolded. The night air is chilly to the point of biting and he vaguely thinks about his jacket, but he’s moving like a man possessed. He arrives at Tooru’s window, letting out a short, mirthless simulacrum of a chuckle because this time it isn’t a door.  


It’s a one storey house and honestly, Hajime could knock if he wanted to. But he has knocked and called and begged and threatened all year so he picks up the pebbles in the Oikawa’s backyard (silently apologizing to Oikawa-san, for whom the garden is a pride and joy) and tosses a few in quick succession at Tooru’s window.  


There’s sufficient pause for Hajime to weigh between turning around and leaving, and throwing more pebbles, and just as he cocks his arm back to fling a few more, the curtains shift, the window slides open and a sleep ruffled, fluffy brown head pops out, blinking crossly at being woken up. He does look skinnier, more wan, but so familiar that Hajime’s fingers twitch to run his hands through the coconut scented locks or run a thumb under the stubborn chin.  


When Tooru’s eyes catch on Hajime’s dimly lit figure he straightens up so fast he hits his head on the top of his window and lets out a hiss of pain. He rubs what is probably already turning into a bruise and through it all, his wide eyes don’t leave Hajime’s.  


A heartbeat, and the longing for him that had rescinded into a throbbing sore that Hajime had picked at and covered up for a year flares into a blinding need that exposes Hajime as a chasm that fissured a year ago.  


He had played this scene out countless times and each time he had started out rational and steady, like the rock he had always been for Tooru.  


Instead, all that comes out is a broken, practiced to perfection in the past three hundred and twenty three nights, “Tooru, please.”  


Tooru’s eyes can’t possibly get any wider but they do and his mouth opens, closes and then opens again.  


“Iwa- Iwa-chan?” Hajime’s knees nearly buckle with relief because as raw and bewildered and uncertain Tooru’s voice is, it breaks the year-long radio silence that has been deafening for Hajime. And that’s all Hajime needs. He holds up a safety pin, the best he could do under the circumstances, honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he’d taken it for until now. Until he’d heard Tooru’s voice.  


Tooru looks completely baffled, his expression quickly shifts to confused horror when Hajime jams the open safety pin into his finger and a spot of red wells up.  


“Iwa-chan, wha-”  


“I, Hajime, made a solemn vow that Tooru would always be my best friend and most important person in the world to me. That I would be there for you always even though you have stupid ideas, that I would never let you work for your dreams alone and that I would be standing right beside you when your dreams came true,” Hajime is gripping the safety pin so tight that it presses into his skin more painfully that the prick on his finger. He chances a glance at Tooru, who’s stock still at the window, knuckles white at the bottom of the sill and ploughs on.  


“I meant that and I haven’t done what I said I would. I- I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you and I’m sorry I made you feel like you were going to be alone and then for not being there for you. God, Tooru, you-”, his voice cracks and he takes a shuddering breath, “You’re the only thing that matters. You’re all I- all I care about. Tooru, please. Tell me I’m not too late, tell me we can fix this.”  


Tooru is crying and Hajime’s heart wrenches, _I’m too late and I’ve hurt him all over again. This was a mistake,_ he thinks until Tooru hiccups.  


“You don’t hate me?”  


“What?” Hajime is completely floored and Tooru sees it.  


“I thought you hated me,” Tooru sniffed, “I thought because I left early you finally gave up because I was… I was being a brat.” Fresh tears trickle down his cheeks and Hajime’s mind is racing to comprehend.  


“Wait, didn’t you leave because you didn’t want to see me? And then I tried calling and you never picked up. You never called back, you never messaged, you just… Left. I thought you made it clear that you didn’t want me to contact you, I thought… I hurt you so badly that you hated me.” Hajime’s lips feel numb.  


“I mean, I was angry,” Tooru admits, bottom lip still quivering, “But then I was too proud to call and then you never did and-” he chokes on a sob. Hajime lets out a deep exhale.  


“We’re both idiots, aren’t we.”  


Tooru nods dumbly before asking quietly, “Are we still bestest friends?”  


“Crappykawa,” is out of his mouth before he even thinks about it. Just as loving Tooru is as instinctive as breathing and without warning, Tooru launches himself out of the window. It’s only years of practice that has Hajime dropping the safety pin and stepping up, arms automatically braced to catch all seventy two kilograms of Tooru while trying not to get blood on him.

. . .

  


It’s been just over a year and Hajime has a new class schedule to order his days. He’s gotten a free day this term, thank god, which lets him take a train ride to Chiba to spend long weekends with Mattsun and Makki and he started work at a coffeeshop on campus because he gets free coffee and good tips.  


But if you asked Hajime, it’s been two minutes since the last snapchat, one more lecture before their Skype date, four days to the weekend before they visit their friends together.  


Because while his obligations provide his days regularity, his time is and always will be anchored by and measured in Tooru.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This spawned from a very unassuming hc that Iwa and Oiks would only last five days being angry with each other before one of them caved and they made up but somehow mutated as I wrote. 
> 
> Also, kids, sharing blood has health risks and don’t use safety pins, for the love of God, tetanus is still a thing.
> 
> The title comes from [Want You Back](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yPQfcG-eimk) by Haim and the other song lyrics are from [You and I](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MaQXwsAn5CM), [Your Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xglMgU6Soo) and [Losing It](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=si6eDqJfNlU) by Rhodes. They’re all gorgeous songs and super chill. ^^
> 
> Come spazz with me on [tumblr](https://redroseinsanity.tumblr.com/), I am always happy to talk about anything and everything!


End file.
